Home-home-home

I didn't realize, at all, but I was hungry. Starving. There was, is, an absence of something I crave. I filled it up with drugs, filled up with work, filled it up with worry and love for someone who kicked me in the face over and over. Anything, to forget. Good distractions. They did their job. But it was like feeding a monster, a greedy monsterous baby that never got full, barely even swallowed, until I was running back and forth to it, and around and around, and the more it had, the more it needed.

It's good to hear the waves on the rocks. The streaming pink of the sinking sun. God-like beams and shafts of gold through the clouds. The wind here, it blows right into my chest, and it fills up the hollow parts, every nook and cranny. It's so beautiful, it's the warm-blanket-around-the-shoulders feeling, that old hug of heroin- without the shadows.

I think I'm going to be okay.